Sleepover
by BarracudaHeart
Summary: There's fun games to play for kids who go bump in the dark. For Corey WW's SU Reddit Writing Prompts: Two of the show's characters playing a game.
_So far, this was turning out to be a pretty boring sleepover._

 _Lars had figured that Ronnie's dad would be smart enough to know he was more than mature enough to handle cooking s'mores in an oven, but apparently nine years old was too young to handle such a hot appliance. At least they wouldn't cooking them over an actual fire then. The microwave just wasn't as fun._

 _They couldn't have caffeinated soda, Mr. Fryman said, because it would make Ronnie wet the bed, a revelation that made Lars laugh, and Ronnie flush red. And the only acceptable soda they had tasted like soapwater. So they settled for apple juice with club soda added, and they both pretended it was beer._

 _No R-rated movies, they had to settle for a PG rated movie where the most intense moment was that the dog died. So it was less anticipation for a scare, and more of frustration that the car never stopped before it hit the poor animal._

 _No staying up late, all the lights were out at 10, and they couldn't even sleep under the stars, because there was a ten percent chance it might rain._

 _Lars scowled as he stared at the ceiling above him in Ronnie's room, Ronnie chattering away happily about how that in the morning they could eat frozen waffles._

 _Groaning a little, Ronnie's guest sat up, "I'm not even tired!", he complained, "Is your dad seriously not even going to let us stay up and talk?"_

 _"I know, I know," Ronnie mumbled, "He's been weird ever since mom- well, you know," he shrugged, and lay back down, fidgeting with one of his action figures._

 _Lars huffed as he looked at the dark ceiling, then sat up, "...do you think he's asleep?_

 _Ronnie got up from his bed, shuffling quietly over to the wall that separated his room from his father's, and pressed his ear against it. Hearing snoring, he nodded, "He's asleep."_

 _Getting up, Lars handed him his glasses, "Alright, then let's get moving."_

 _"Wh-what are you-"_

 _"This is a sleepover! Don't you know you're not supposed to sleep? Sleep is for the weak," Lars whispered, and took the other's chubby little hand and led him out of the room, both keeping their footsteps silent as they crept downstairs. Once the coast was clear, they made a break for the kitchen, in hopes to find those hidden snacks that they had been unfairly deprived of._

 _It took a bit of searching, and even crawling in the cabinets like tunnels, but eventually, they found the treasured goodies, most hidden with a label telling Ronnie not to touch them._

 _After gorging on a package of oreos, a couple caffienated sodas of choice, a can of olives, spicy nacho chips, half a box of ice cream sandwiches, and some leftover tuna salad from the fridge, they both got tired of eating, and wanted something else to do._

 _They went outside in their pajamas, and quickly felt their feet get soaked from the freshly rained on grass, and quickly went inside with muddy feet, deciding that was a mistake._

 _They turned on the TV, and all that was on was infomercials, none of the channels playing R-rated movies like they'd hoped._

 _"...wanna play a game?", Ronnie suddenly asked, "We could think of something fun to do in the dark."_

 _After some deliberating, the two settled on a game they created called 'Burglar'. Making sure all the lights in the house were off, one of them was to sneak around the house, collecting small items, while the other was to search for them and catch them by tagging them, and then they were to switch roles. Whoever collected the most stuff would win, and then they'd have to decide on some other game to play._

 _In order to be able to navigate the house, Ronnie provided the both of them with small toy flashlights he'd gotten at a fast food restaurant years ago, and then with Lars starting at the top of the stairs, gave Ronnie a quiet count of twenty to go hide somewhere as a starting place._

 _That round was over almost as soon as it ended. Lars had managed to find and tag Ronnie in the kitchen, trying to steal another package of oreos._

 _Once Ronnie started counting, Lars made a logical choice to go around to the opposite side of the house, using the back door to go through the yard, and then in through the front, ever so quietly. In the foyer, he saw car keys on a table, and quickly snatched them, along with a coin purse, and some gloves on the coat rack._

 _Ronnie swore he could have seen Lars in the kitchen just a moment ago, but now there was not a single sign of him on the ground floor. He must have had some pretty soft feet!_

 _Lars giggled as he shuffled his way up the stairs, his arms full of items he swiped from the rooms he'd gone through. With his luck, he'd have no trouble finding things to collect on the upstairs floor._

 _After having gone through Baby Peedee's room, and snatching a few toys and a pacifier, Lars realized his arms were too full to carry much more, and would need a place to stow his collection. Quickly and quietly searching for a spare room to put them in, he caught sight of what he assumed was a closet, and yanked the double doors open, leaning in._

 _At the same time, Ronnie broke his silence, and cheered triumphantly as he lunged to tag Lars, "GOTCHA!"_

 _His tag ended up becoming a shove and it knocked Lars off balance, and he fell forwards, screaming as he wound up going down a dark narrow tunnel, face first._

 _Several seconds later, a hysterical Ronnie was hurrying to wake his daddy, screaming that Lars had gotten stuck in the clothes chute._

 _When Mr. Fryman hurried to the scene, still in confusion, and turned on the light, he saw two tiny sock clad feet sticking out of the chute, and loud terrified sobs echoed from the tunnel as Lars desperately tried to keep himself from falling down the slanted pipe any further and into the concrete floor of the garage, where there wasn't any certainty that a basket of soft shirts and pants would save him._

 _He ended up pulled out by the foot, and found he had a bloody nose, and cried the whole way down to the kitchen while Ronnie was grounded._

 _Mr. Fryman decided any future sleep overs should probably be hosted at Lars' house._

* * *

"Uh, thanks for letting me crash here for the night Mr. Fryman while my house is gettin' pest control," Lars muttered awkwardly as he plopped the spare blanket he was given onto the living room couch.

"Don't worry about it. I wouldn't want to be living in a house full of bees either," Fryman chuckled, heading up the stairs, "Holler if you need anything, goodnight!"

"Aight, goodnight," Lars mumbled, flopping onto the couch, and pulling the blanket up to his chin, and closed his eyes.

Ronaldo hadn't been all too keen about letting one of his top suspects for rock people into his house, but when his father explained the spontaneous growth of a hive in the attic of his former friend's house, he realized he didn't have much of a choice in letting the punk into his family's home. At least Lars would be sleeping downstairs, and not sharing a room with him. Besides, who knew what gross habits he did in his sleep?

Around three AM, Ronaldo heard thumping noises, and immediately grew concerned that they didn't match his father's or brother's footsteps, and immediately jumped to the conclusion that they'd switched to wearing socks at night, or that he was going to get killed in his sleep by a rock person.

Cautiously getting up, he waited in the doorway to get a better listen of the sounds that the culprit made, and as soon as he heard a door open, he jumped into action, yelling for the creature to cease moving.

Lars had completely forgotten where the bathroom was in their hallway in his sleepy state, and had opened up the double doors just as he was heroically tackled.

Less than a minute later, Ronaldo sheepishly woke his dad, mumbling that there was a problem.

In the glow of the hallway light, looking at his son's embarrassed face, and the angry flailing noodles that were Lars' legs sticking out of the long unused clothes chute along with some screeches and swearing, Mr. Fryman had quietly accepted, after all these years, that Ronaldo and Lars were both complete idiots.


End file.
